


Pareo Dominum

by Shellepink



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Character Study, Exploration of aspects of slave life in Tevinter, Gen, Implied Sexual Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Tevinter Imperium, There is nothing explicitly shown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shellepink/pseuds/Shellepink
Summary: Attention did not bode well for slaves in Tevinter.  Trilyn knew this, but though he has always tried to minimize and control that which he did receive from his masters, there were times when it slipped through the cracks and ensnared him tightly in ways he could never have predicted.Warning: Implied and referenced sexual and physical abuse; nothing explicit.





	Pareo Dominum

**Author's Note:**

> Trilyn is one of my DAI OCs. Formerly a slave of Tevinter, Trilyn knew Fenris back when he was Leto, and this is a little attempt at an extrapolation of what parts of their lives were like back in Tevinter. [Here](https://lavalampelfchild.tumblr.com/tagged/trilyn) is my tag for Trilyn on my tumblr page. 
> 
> Warning: This story contains referenced and implied sexual abuse, as well as physical abuse. It is not meant to romanticize, fetishize, or normalize either; it is instead intended to be an examination of several different aspects of life for slaves of Tevinter and the way that one slave in particular attempts to control as much of his life and self as he can, as well as (specifically) a closer look at the immediate aftermath of the ritual which resulted in Fenris getting the lyrium marks on his skin.

At first, Trilyn had been thankful that Danarius seemed to be uninterested in his appearance.  That was always the concern with a new master.  Trilyn could be as unremarkable and average as he wanted in terms of deed and temperament, but if his master simply liked his appearance, then it didn’t matter.

But Danarius had been completely unconcerned with him at the initial presentation.  Trilyn had not been sent to the forums this time, had not been sold in a public auction; this one had been a private deal, and so Trilyn had found himself standing alone before his new master as he was inspected.  

He had practice avoiding a master’s eyes without looking too demure or frightened, and he prided himself on being able to read any master so that he might know when they expected him to meet their eyes and when they wished visible deference from him.  

He relied on that knowledge as Danarius scrutinized him, and all seemed well enough, for at the end of it all, Danarius had nodded like he was satisfied and sent Trilyn away with nary a lingering glance.  

Trilyn had breathed easy that night, knowing that this new master of his had no particular desire for him, nor any overt malice.  Now he just had to ensure things stayed that way.

Within the first month, however, he learned that he had been wrong. Danarius was not immune to his charms. He simply sought to use them in a vastly different manner than Trilyn was accustomed to.

Danarius had been preparing for a large gathering, a ball of sorts, when he bought Trilyn.  And it became clear very soon that he had bought Trilyn for one very explicit purpose.

On the night of the event, Danarius sent four slaves to Trilyn, slaves tasked with combing his hair, perfuming his body, painting his face. They clothed him in fine silks, made him look well, and when they were done they went away, leaving Trilyn alone until Danarius took their place.

His master had looked him over, tilting his face from side to side, stroking a hand through his hair, circling him slowly.  After several moments of silent scrutiny, Danarius had taken one of Trilyn’s hands in his and caressed the skin with amused curiosity.

“Your previous master did not use you for physical labor, I understand,” he murmured, his touch lighter than a breath. “Only light housework for you. It shows.”  He touched his free hand to Trilyn’s chin and guided it upwards. He spoke again only when Trilyn’s eyes met his.  “Your hands are lovely.  Many prefer a gentler touch.”  His hand left Trilyn’s chin to stroke along his cheek.

“Tonight you will attend to my guests.  I am certain you will be very well-received.”

Danarius then sent him out to the great hall which housed the event, and he bore the cups of his master’s guests.  

Trilyn made the rounds of these guests, and he held his distance as he refilled cup after cup without incident, until one bold and intoxicated man beckoned him closer, whispered in his ear and touched his shoulder.  Danarius had laughed and declared the whole thing unseemly for dinnertime behavior.  

Before the guests retired for the evening, however, after the festivities had finished, Danarius very quietly instructed Trilyn to show the guest – a prominent magister – to his room.  Trilyn knew what that meant.

He obeyed his master and lingered after they had reached their destination.  He knew what came next.  As soon as he had the magister’s attention – which had not been difficult to garner as the man’s eyes had barely left Trilyn for the entire night – Trilyn looked at him through his lashes, coy and shy, and asked if there was anything else he could do for such an honored guest.

Afterward, the magister spoke highly of Danarius’s hospitality, and had even sent a gift of thanks, not so subtly hinting at an eager willingness to sample said hospitality a second time.

Danarius was most pleased.

And Trilyn had done it again.  And again.  And again.

Trilyn had thought that would be the worst of it, had thought that allowing the lords and ladies of Danarius’s esteemed social circle to make liberal use of his body would be the farthest extent to which Danarius would push him.  

He was wrong.

One of the other slaves Trilyn had come to know, a boy of his own age named Leto, was very vocal in his disdain for the actions which their master had Trilyn perform.  Once, when they were young, after Trilyn went to their master to speak of the events occurring the previous night, Leto spoke out – loudly – against the whole thing. While their master was there.  

Trilyn had hung his head, a shamed gesture as though he had been the one to speak out of turn, and Leto’s mother had immediately silenced her son, throwing herself down before Danarius and apologizing profusely. Leto’s cheeks had darkened, as though he knew the seriousness of his outburst, but he raised his chin as though he was determined not to care.

Fortunately, there had been no beating, for Danarius had only been amused.  He had remarked on Leto’s fiery temper, offered a token rebuke to Leto’s mother, and gone away, a smirk on his face.

Looking back, Trilyn supposed that had been the beginning of it all.

As Leto grew, Trilyn began to notice an increase in attention paid him by Danarius.  Trilyn’s own standing with their master remained unchanged, but still, Trilyn was unnerved.  This was the worst kind of attention a slave could receive from his master, he knew, and if it could change seemingly on a whim…

So he observed.  He observed Leto and he observed their master.  It did not take long for him to discover the reason for this change.

Leto was a fierce boy, more open with his disdain when given an order he disliked, and as he grew, his body began to match that odd temperament: sharp-edged, hard jaw, sleek and muscled.  It was no wonder to Trilyn that Danarius soon made Leto one of his body slaves.

And still Leto remained his fiery obstinate self.

But then came the competition.

Trilyn had known that Danarius had been working on some sort of project long before Danarius had announced the tournament.  He knew it was mysterious, knew it had to do with lyrium, and knew it was likely very dangerous.

He also knew that the ‘boon’ Danarius had offered as a reward for becoming a living test subject was likely not going to make up for whatever pain the subject endured.  After all, Danarius would never let his test subject go free.  So, when the time came, Trilyn stayed back, kept to himself, and watched as Danarius basked in the glory of this spectacle he had created, this spectacle that centered on him.  

Leto joined the tournament – Trilyn had expected that – and then proceeded to win it – Trilyn hadn’t quite expected that.  He took his boon to free his mother and sister, and then gave himself over to Danarius in a way he never had before.  In a way for which Danarius had always hungered.

The week after Leto won the tournament, he and Danarius disappeared into the bowls of Danarius’s mansion in Seheron, and Trilyn could hardly remember a time when he had felt so tense and helpless.  Though perhaps not as close to Leto as his family had been to him, Trilyn considered him a friend.

At the end of the week, Danarius came for Trilyn, wild-eyed and barely composed.  A sharp and sick smile spread across the width of his face, and his hand, when it gripped Trilyn’s arm, was sweaty.

“Come, slave,” Danarius growled, as though he didn’t even know which slave he had in his hold.

Of course, Trilyn obeyed.  

Leto was there, lying on a slab in the middle of a dark room Trilyn had never seen before.  Trilyn stopped before he knew what he was doing, and Danarius laughed, steering him forward.  

“Don’t be frightened, pet,” he murmured, his free hand coming up to stroke Trilyn’s hair.  Trilyn barely managed not to shiver under that touch, and pulled together the scattered bits of his composure.  Danarius walked him closer to Leto.

Leto, who was lying unmoving on that slab, who was completely unclothed, whose hair was _white_ , who – Trilyn swallowed – was covered from head to foot in strange markings, markings that swirled and cut across his body, a gruesome painting on the canvas of Leto’s skin.

They were glowing, those markings.  

“Go on,” Danarius’s voice slithered into his ear and Trilyn wanted to scrub the feel of it away. “Wake him.”

Wake him?  

Trilyn didn’t move.  Danarius’s grip on his arm tightened.

“ _Wake him,_ ” he hissed.  

Trilyn went.  He approached his unconscious peer slowly, his way lit by the glowing marks on Leto’s skin.  In the flickering light of those markings, Trilyn could see dried blood spattered across his friend’s body and drew in a slow breath.

He couldn’t say what he planned to do as he reached uncertainly for Leto, only that he could not have anticipated what happened next.

His fingers had barely brushed Leto’s shoulder when Leto’s eyes snapped open.  A snarl ripped from his throat and he his body twisted on the slab, hand reaching to grip Trilyn’s.

Trilyn sucked in a breath as he found himself abruptly turned and slammed painfully back against the stone slab, Leto looming over him. His head cracked against the hard surface and he hissed at the spike of pain.  When he managed to regain himself somewhat, he looked up at Leto.  Fear clenched his chest tight.  He froze.

Leto’s eyes were wide and unfocused, his hands gripping Trilyn’s wrists in a brutal hold.  His breathing was heavy, and his breath rancid.  Pressed close to him, Trilyn could see the minute shaking in his limbs.

It was the picture of a wild animal, cornered and fearful, untamed, dangerous, and ready to lash out at anything, perfectly capable of tearing it to pieces.

“Perfect…”

Danarius’s voice cut sharply through Trilyn’s thoughts and he pulled his eyes away from Leto momentarily to stare at their master.  He wanted to cringe at what he saw.

Danarius’s eyes were set on Leto, a hard and steady stare raking over his form.  There was more hunger and open desire there on his face than Trilyn had ever seen in his expression before.  Then that gaze turned on him, and a more familiar fear overtook him.  He tried to remember his usual tricks, tried to remember how he normally deflected such attention.  

_Don’t look away, don’t show your fear, but be careful not to project defiance; that only makes them more eager to break you._

But Leto was holding him captive, and he couldn’t move, and nothing of his usual experience would help him here.

“It worked perfectly,” Danarius declared, his voice almost quivering with delight.  Trilyn heard the sound of his approaching footsteps and struggled to keep his breathing steady.

An oily sweaty hand pressed at his chin and pushed.  Trilyn swallowed as his head was forced back against the stone.  The hand twitched.  

“Look how he submits,” Danarius murmured.  He reached over and pulled at one of Leto’s hands.  Leto growled but released Trilyn’s wrist from his hold.  Trilyn knew better than to move it.

Danarius guided Leto’s hand to Trilyn’s neck and urged the marked fingers closed, down and around.  

Trilyn realized he was shaking.  He swallowed convulsively, already feeling his throat beginning to constrict, feeling the press of Leto’s fingers.  His hand itched with the need to move, to push, to get him away, to do _something_.  

“You could kill him right now,” Danarius went on, his fingers stroking over the marks on Leto’s hand. “I’ve made it even easier for you. You are perfectly designed to kill him.”

Leto made a garbled noise at the back of his throat and his fingers twitched.  Trilyn’s throat worked against them and he choked out a breath, weakly twitching to get away.

Danarius stepped back, eyes roving over the hand Leto had at Trilyn’s throat.

“Hold, slave,” he commanded.  Leto stilled, and suddenly Trilyn understood.  

There was hunger there in Danarius’s eyes, hunger and desire, base and raw, and suddenly, Trilyn knew what Danarius wanted.  Knew that for which Danarius hungered.

Danarius wanted power.  As any other master of slaves, Danarius wanted to have power over others and exercise it.

But more than that, he liked to see power in _others_ and still have control over them.  He liked to see the powerful and know that they could not match him.  He liked to see them brought to heel before him, _by_ hm.

He saw power in Leto and wished to leash it, wished to be seen leashing it, wished to demonstrate his control, have it seen and known by all.

He liked for Leto to show his power, only because it reminded him of just how much of that power he controlled.  And Trilyn – soft-looking, skinny, helpless Trilyn, beautiful like a girl – was merely a pawn in that game.

Danarius released a slow breath.  

“That’s quite enough,” he said, his voice thick with a lust he didn’t bother to hide. “What a little wolf you are.”  He smiled and Trilyn had to fight not to look away.  “My Fenris.  Release the lamb and come with me, now.”

Leto pulled his hand away from Trilyn’s neck and the tension loosened in Trilyn’s body.  He turned his head to the side and pulled in a shaky breath.  Leto stepped away and Trilyn noted the separation with distant relief.  His shoulders curled protectively forward, and he pressed his eyes shut.  

He didn’t hear the sound of footsteps.

“Fenris, slave, to me.  Now.”  

Still nothing.  Trilyn risked opening his eyes.  

Leto stood before him, a single step between them, staring down at him.  Familiar green eyes flicked back and forth over his body, and for a moment, Trilyn could have sworn he saw a measure of confusion in them.  

Nevertheless, he tensed at the scrutiny and mustered as effective a glare as he could.  Leto seemed unmoved, still staring.  Trilyn huffed a resigned breath and turned away, letting his head thunk back down to the slab.

Let them look.  In that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.  

_Leave.  Or let me leave.  Go away._

“ _Fenris._ ”

Leto whipped around to face Danarius, and Trilyn lost sight of his expression.  He guessed it wasn’t favorable.  

This time, Leto obeyed the command, and moved with carefully controlled steps away from Trilyn and the stone slab.  Danarius seemed to ease in response to the obedience.

“Trilyn, remain here and regain yourself,” he commanded. “I will send one of your fellows down to collect you and return you to the slave quarters.” A slick smile spread across his face. “You will stay there until I summon you again.”  He turned and left, Leto following behind.

Trilyn watched them disappear from the corners of his vision and pushed himself weakly off the slab, slumping down to the floor.  A cold wave of failure and apprehension washed over him.

He had thought that he’d been successful in diverting his master’s attention away from him.  He had thought he’d been blending in well, that he was more or less inconspicuous.  He had not known he could have miscalculated so terribly.

Tipping his head forward to rest against his knees, Trilyn took a rare moment to indulge in his exhaustion.

It was hours before anyone came to get him.


End file.
